Before we get started, here’s some facts:
Michael Nelson Trout, born August 7, 1991, is quite possibly the most amazing baseball player who has ever laced up. Period. He’s 27 years old and he keeps getting better every year. A man who has never been outside of the top three in MVP voting SINCE HIS ROOKIE SEASON and routinely makes some of the greatest players in the game look like fools is getting better.
I know, I know. He plays for the Angels. He has an insane workout routine, he takes care of himself, Babe Ruth ate five hot dogs, took a snort of booze and bed down a hooker before he came to the field, blah blah blah.
I don’t care.
If you have had the pleasure, nay, the LIFE CHANGING opportunity to watch this humble weatherman who plays baseball for a living in person, you know this is bunk.
The kid is dynamite.
He’s 6’2″, 235 pounds but he’s built like a brick wall. He’s what the kids call “thicc”. He’s sturdy as a redwood but runs like Usain Bolt and leaps like Dr. J. The guy is magnetic. He steals bases with ease and crushes elite pitchers’ hopes and dreams much like he crushes their two seamers.
And he’s only getting better.
Haters say it’s fake, but we know the truth, and it’s this simple fact. Mike Trout is someone we will never ever see again. He deserves every bit of praise he gets, and then some. He’s a good man in an increasingly depressing sports landscape and he’s honestly the greatest baseball player I have ever seen in my entire life.
All hail the GOAT. All hail the King.